


The Care and Management of Volatile Veelas

by dracogotgame



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Veela, Veela Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-02-25 09:40:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2617205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracogotgame/pseuds/dracogotgame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry adopts a Veela. He really didn’t mean to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Care and Management of Volatile Veelas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SPowell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPowell/gifts).



> Dear sp_owl, apologies for butchering your lovely prompt. I hope you enjoy this attempt to write Veela fic any way. M, thank you for the beta! You’re the best.

Harry suppressed a weary sigh and adjusted his grip on the phone as he tried to make sense of his excitable neighbour’s babbling. “Mrs Newberry, I appreciate your concern, I really do,” he tried again. “But I’m quite certain a giant bird is not roosting in my tree.”

Honestly, of all the things to deal with after a long day at work. Harry massaged his temples as Mrs Newberry continued to argue her case. Really, she was a dear old thing— always handy with a freshly baked batch of cookies and a grandmotherly pat on the head— but it was times like this that he honestly wondered if he should just move back to the city like Ron and Mione kept telling him to.

“Yes, I checked,” he lied, possibly for the fourth time in ten minutes. “I promise you there’s nothing out...”

It was pure chance that he happened to glance out the window. 

A flash of white. A slim figure hunched in the branches of the bare tree. A subtle arch, extending into a pair of large, white...

...wings.

Harry nearly dropped the phone. “Mrs Newberry, I’m going to have to call you back,” he blurted out. And with that hasty sign off, he grabbed his wand and bolted out to the garden. 

It was chilly tonight. It looked like winter was finally here. Harry shivered and adjusted his scarf as he padded to the tree, not entirely sure what his next course of action was to be. There was, after all, a giant winged creature nesting in his backyard. Ron’s jokes about rescuing kittens from trees notwithstanding, nothing in Harry’s limited Auror experience had prepared him for this. Surely, he must have missed a class or something... 

At any rate, the...whatever it was, wasn’t really doing much at the moment. It wasn’t even moving, save for the feathers rustling in the cold breeze. In fact, all Harry could see was the wings— white and gleaming, wrapped like a cocoon around a slim body. Was it a bird at all? It didn’t look like any bird he had seen.

“Um, hello?” he finally greeted it, trying not to feel too ridiculous. “Can you hear me?”

It could. The creature stiffened and wrapped its wings tight around its body, clearly trying to look as small as possible. Harry tried to tamp down a sudden wave of pity. On one hand, the poor thing was clearly frightened. On the other hand, that ‘poor thing’ was easily his size— not counting the wingspan. Merlin only knew what it would do if he startled it.

“Hey, I’m not going to hurt you,” he tried again, keeping his tone gentle and reassuring. “It’s alright, I promise.”

The creature shivered. Harry bit his lip in frustration. This wasn’t working. Maybe he should just call the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. They would know what to do with Feathers here. Then again, if he was lost and caught in a tree, he probably wouldn’t want a couple dozen Ministry officials poking and prodding at him either.

So Harry tried to talk to the big bird again. It was only polite. “Look, I’m really not trying to upset you or anything,” he explained. “But I can’t help you like this. Can you just...I don’t know, flap your wings or something so I know you understand me?”

“I don’t flap, Potter.”

Harry yelped in alarm and nearly lost his footing. The wings unfurled and a blond head poked out of the feathers. A familiar face stared down at him with an even more familiar mixture of wariness and contempt.

“Oh, wonderful,” Malfoy grumbled, crouching sullenly on his branch. “This night just keeps getting better and better.”

“Malfoy?!”

Harry would like to take a moment to note that his voice did not come out all panicky and shrill. It was simply an octave or two on the high side and that was only because Draco Malfoy was sitting in a tree with a pair of wings growing out his back!

“What the hell happened to you?” Harry demanded because really, that was a pertinent question.

Malfoy stared down his nose at him. This was fairly easy to achieve seeing that he was currently situated at least thirty meters over Harry’s eye level. “I’m a Veela, Potter,” he explained sourly. “Surely even with your limited mental capacity, you noticed the bloody _wings_?”

He unfurled said wings as he spoke, looking for all the world like an angry griffin about to pounce. Harry took a step back on general principle, trying to reconcile himself to this bizarre turn of events.

A Veela. 

Malfoy was a Veela.

 _Malfoy_ was a Veela.

Oh, _hell_ no!

“You can’t be a Veela,” Harry said firmly. “Stop it at once.”

Perhaps it was a little petty to make such a demand— there was a very good chance that Malfoy hadn’t signed up for this— but Harry wasn’t feeling particularly reasonable. It had just been _that_ kind of day. It was bad enough dealing with Malfoy in a tree. Malfoy in a tree with wings was where he drew the line.

“I can’t!” Malfoy snapped back, confirming Harry’s ominous suspicions. “It’s a rare, unfortunate strain in my family. Apparently, it shows up every three hundred years or so. Guess who won the genetic lottery?” He sneered and flared his wings for emphasis. 

Harry merely stared and tried to process the deluge of entirely unwanted information. “You’re really a Veela?” A small, naïve part of him still hoped Malfoy would yell ‘Gotcha!’ or something.

No such luck. Malfoy sighed and slumped into the branches again. “Yes, I’m a Veela,” he replied quietly. He sounded rather sick of the whole thing. “This is happening, Potter. And if you don’t mind, I really don’t want to talk about it anymore. Have a pleasant evening. I’ll be gone by morning.”

Wait, what?

“What?” Harry echoed. “You’re staying?”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. Clearly he sensed a challenge here. “Yes.”

“In my tree?”

“That is correct.”

Harry bristled indignantly. “You can’t just take my tree!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Malfoy drawled. “Were you using it?”

That was hardly the point. And quite frankly, Harry was running out of patience. It was late and he had had a very long day and this was the proverbial last straw. All he wanted right now was to get Malfoy the Wonder Pigeon out of his damn backyard, grab a cup of hot chocolate and pretend this night had never happened. “You can’t stay here,” he said, trying to inflect a stern, authoritative note in his voice. “You’re scaring my neighbour.”

“Potter, look...”

“She’s seventy five, you know. Her heart doesn’t need the added stress...”

“I have nowhere else to go, okay?”

Harry’s arguments petered off. “What?”

Despite his claims to the contrary, Malfoy flapped fretfully. “Father is furious,” he reported unhappily. “He kicked me out and told me not to come back. Mother’s trying to calm him down but... anyway, the point is I’m on my own for a few days.”

“Oh.”

Harry shuffled uncomfortably, feeling rather guilty all of a sudden. Well, how was he supposed to know Malfoy wasn’t making his life miserable by choice? He’d been rather enthusiastic about it in the past, after all. Did he really have nowhere else to go? 

“What about your friends?” Harry asked. “Can’t you stay with them?”

“What friends? The ones in Azkaban or the ones who skipped the country?”

Strike two. Harry cursed under his breath. But there was nothing he could do. Malfoy was here and apparently, he wasn’t leaving anytime soon. 

“Alright, how about this?” he suggested, already aware that he going to regret this greatly in the morning. “It’s late, it’s cold and I don’t know about you but I’m exhausted. Why don’t you just stay the night and we’ll figure things out in the morning?”

Malfoy flared up at the benign offer. “I don’t need your help,” he replied contentiously. “I just need your tree.”

“Malfoy, it’s freezing out here. Look, it’s starting to snow.”

Sure enough, flurries of white, delicate snowflakes were drifting from the sky. The first snow of the season, Harry thought. Well, he couldn’t fault it for timing. Malfoy seemed faintly concerned as well. “I can keep warm,” he argued weakly. He wound his wings around his body again. Unfortunately, it just made him look pitiful and Harry couldn’t ignore the guilty thrum in his chest any longer.

“Come on,” he implored. “I can’t just leave you to freeze out here, can I? Just come in. It would make me feel better.”

“I don’t know...”

“I have hot chocolate.”

That seemed to work. Malfoy perked up and craned his neck out eagerly. “With tiny marshmallows?” 

“Sure,” Harry replied with a shrug. “So will you come down now?”

Malfoy appeared to be giving it some thought. He worried at his lower lip, observing Harry with keen eyes. Harry did his best to appear as unassuming as he could. It was a bit like staring down Buckbeak. The fact that Malfoy had feathers now really helped that mental image along. 

Then, Malfoy sighed and nodded. “Fine,” he relented. “It’s not like I have a choice.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “Great. So, just stay there and I’ll fetch a ladder or some...”

Malfoy leapt out of the tree. Harry squawked in alarm and scrambled back but at the last moment, Malfoy stretched his wings, caught a current and glided down to safety. 

“Well,” he commented, landing gracefully beside a hyperventilating Harry. “That’s a handy new trick.”

And without another word, he turned his back and headed for the house. Harry stared after him for a good ten minutes before trudging back inside.

After all this, he figured he would need something a little stronger than hot chocolate.

****

“I’m just going to say it,” Ron declared, over lunch a few days later. “This is _exactly_ why we keep telling you to move back to the city.”

Hermione shared a look with Harry before turning to her husband. “Really? This _exact_ reason?”

“Think about it,” Ron argued, waving his fork around with newfound purpose. “If he didn’t live in the country, he wouldn’t have a backyard. If he didn’t have a backyard, he wouldn’t have a tree. And if he didn’t have a tree, he wouldn’t have Malfoy nesting in his house right now.”

Harry groaned and reintroduced his head to the table. As much as he hated to say it, Ron made a good point. Hermione just shook her head and patted his shoulder sympathetically. “How’s he doing?” she asked. “With the whole Veela thing, I mean?”

Harry shrugged. “He won’t talk about it. I think he’s embarrassed.”

Ron snorted. “I would be, if I turned into a chicken overnight.”

“Ron!” Hermione scolded. “Veelas are not birds.”

“’Course not,” Ron agreed obligingly. “They’re just half-birds.” 

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “Would you like me to share that thought with Fleur?” she threatened.

Ron went back to his food without another word. Hermione smiled in smug satisfaction and turned her attention to Harry again. “So, is he...different?”

Harry considered that. His initial instinct was to go with _Hell, he’s different. He’s moulting all over my house._ Then he really thought about it. Aside from the wings— which were ridiculously soft by the way; Harry had brushed up against them more than once and not always on accident— Malfoy was still very much Malfoy. He was sullen and snappish. He made minimal conversation and when he did, it was often terse, disparaging comments about Harry’s housekeeping, his work habits and his waistline. He absolutely loathed the wings but that didn’t stop him from preening in front of the mirror for two hours every day in an effort to make them presentable. He was without a doubt, the worst houseguest Harry had ever had.

“Still Malfoy,” he decided finally. “Just with feathers.”

“How long is he staying?” Ron asked.

Harry shrugged. “Until Lucius gets over his fit? Until somebody else takes him in? I don’t know. But I can’t just kick him out.”

“He can always fly south for the winter.”

Hermione lost patience and rapped Ron’s knuckles with a spoon. “Enough with the bird jokes,” she scolded, ignoring his yelp of pain. “This is serious! Veelas are very different from wizards. We hardly know anything about them. Malfoy could be undergoing some very drastic changes and Harry won’t know how to handle it until it’s too late.”

Harry sat up, suddenly concerned. “What kind of changes?” he demanded. Surely, Malfoy would have told him if something felt off, right? Actually now that he thought about it, Harry wasn’t so sure he would. From what he had seen in these past few days, Malfoy knew even less about Veelas than he did and he certainly wasn’t eager to learn.

Hermione shook her head. “I can’t say. This is one research subject I’m not familiar with.” She brightened suddenly. “But Fleur would know! I’ll talk to her, see if she can come down and give Malfoy some advice.”

It was a sound plan. Of course, getting Malfoy to talk to Fleur would be a challenge in itself. One thing at a time, Harry decided. “Thanks, Mione. I’ll let him know.”

And that was that. They returned to their lunch, eating in comfortable silence. Until of course, Ron thought of another joke.

“So, does he have a little swing in his cage or...”

“Stop,” Hermione ordered, not even bothering to look up from her plate.

Ron stopped.

****

When he returned home, Harry found Malfoy perched (clearly, some of Ron’s jokes were starting to stick) on the sofa, helping himself to a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

“Your neighbour dropped them off,” he reported. “She’s nice.”

Harry stopped in his tracks and stared at him. “What did she say about...those?” He gestured vaguely at the wings.

Malfoy shrugged. “Not much. She asked if I made them myself and then she said something about ‘you kids and your Halloween parties’.”

Harry sighed in relief. Mrs Newberry was probably going to have some questions for him tomorrow but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. 

Belatedly, he noticed the state his house was in. His good mood from lunch disappeared entirely. Cookie crumbs littered the sofa, piles of moulted feathers fluttered across the living room like tiny, white tumbleweeds and...why was his entire wardrobe on the floor?

“Why are my clothes on the floor?” he asked.

Malfoy waved distractedly. “I needed something to wear.” He pinched the sleeve of the black t-shirt he was wearing, drawing Harry’s attention to it. Harry scowled. That was his favourite black shirt and it was a little off-putting to note that it looked a lot better on Malfoy than it did on him. Then he noticed what else Malfoy had done and his eyebrows all but disappeared into his hairline.

“Did you cut two holes in the back?” Harry screeched in outrage.

Malfoy frowned. “Well, my wings had to go somewhere,” he argued. Said wings fluttered smugly, poking out of the shirt.

“Malfoy!” 

“Relax. A spell will fix it. Salazar, Potter. You’re such a Muggle sometimes.”

That’s when Harry decided that enough was enough. This past week had been a nightmare. He’d suffered through Malfoy’s sulking, he’d pulled feathers out of every crevice and corner of his house, he had done everything to make the git comfortable without so much as a ‘thank you’ and he still couldn’t get rid of the insufferable prat because he _had_ a heart— but that didn’t mean he couldn’t get a little revenge, did it?

“We’re watching a film,” Harry decided. “You know, Muggle moving pictures. You’ll like them.”

Malfoy merely raised a bored eyebrow. It was all the permission Harry needed. 

“Here we are,” he decided, grinning ominously as he retrieved it. “ _The Birds._ Oi Malfoy, ever heard of Alfred Hitchcock?”

****

The movie worked like a Charm. Harry spent a smug two hours, watching the killer birds terrorising people on screen. Malfoy was clearly disturbed by the movie. He got paler and paler by the second, lasting only thirty minutes before mumbling an excuse and retiring to his bedroom. Harry snickered gleefully. Oh alright, so he wasn’t _proud_ of it but Malfoy had it coming.

He skimmed through the rest of the film for an hour or so before deciding to hit the hay as well. Yawning and stretching, he made his way up the stairs...

...only to stop in his tracks as he heard a slight sniffle.

Harry frowned in confusion.

“Malfoy?” he called tentatively

Another sniff.

Feeling slightly concerned now, Harry turned and padded in the direction of the guest bedroom. There was no Malfoy there. There was however, a lumpy, feathered cocoon trembling violently on the bed. 

“Malfoy?” Harry blurted in surprise. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Go away,” the cocoon ordered stuffily. 

Harry raised an eyebrow. Had Malfoy been crying? “What’s wrong?” he asked, approaching cautiously.

Malfoy just curled inwards, disappearing into his winged shelter. “Leave me alone,” he demanded with another pathetic sniff.

“But...” Harry trailed off, feeling rather stupefied all of a sudden. Malfoy _had_ been crying. Merlin, why? Surely the movie wasn’t that bad. “Um, there there?” he tried. 

Malfoy made an odd noise in his throat— something between a growl and a sob. “Why are you still here?” he snapped. “I said go away, Potter!”

The contention brought Harry back on solid ground. “Not until you tell me what’s got you so upset,” he replied firmly. Just to prove his point he sat down on the bed, pretending not to notice when Malfoy hedged away. “What’s the matter?” he asked again. “I’m not leaving ‘til I get an answer.”

“You know,” Malfoy told him sullenly.

“No, I don’t,” Harry belted back. “That would be why I’m asking _you_ , you berk.”

“How can you not know?”

Harry took a deep, calming breath. Malfoy was clearly upset, and getting frustrated with him wasn’t going to help. Besides, he still had to figure out why the bloke was sobbing into his feathers. “Well, help me out anyway,” Harry offered finally. “I’m a little slow on the uptake.”

Malfoy managed a choked, little laugh. Evidently, even in the midst of an emotional meltdown, poking fun at Harry was all it took to cheer him up. Harry rolled his eyes, trying not to feel strangely proud of his breakthrough. Instead, he just sat there, waiting for his houseguest to gather himself.

Malfoy spoke up after a beat of silence. “I’m a monster.” 

The words hung in the sudden silence. Harry gaped in uncomprehending silence as Malfoy curled up again, sniffling like a kicked Crup.

“You’re not a...” Harry shook his head helplessly, struggling for the right words. “Malfoy, come on. What on earth gave you that idea?”

“You saw them too,” Malfoy whimpered, clutching at his wings rather violently now. “The b-birds.” 

_The movie._

_Damn it._

Harry suppressed an oath. He could have kicked himself for being so thoughtless. Malfoy was already sensitive about his wings and Harry had gone and shown him The Worst Movie about Birds ever. What was wrong with him? What had he been hoping to achieve? Well, to be perfectly honest, he had been hoping to piss Malfoy off something proper. But he hadn’t seen this coming. Never in his wildest dreams would he have expected Malfoy to cry about it. The idea that Malfoy would be...well, hurt instead of angry hadn’t even crossed his mind. Malfoy sniffed again and a sad, little tear rolled down the length of one wing. Harry swallowed. Suddenly, this wasn’t so funny anymore.

“Malfoy, come on,” Harry implored helplessly as the bloke continued to cry. “You’re not a bird.”

“Close enough.”

“Not even a little,” Harry argued gently. “And even if you are, who cares? So you have feathers now. Big deal.”

“Ugly,” Malfoy replied in a small voice. His fingers tightened around the feathers, pulling some free and making Harry wince.

“Stop that,” he scolded, pulling Malfoy’s hand away and smoothing down the abused wing. “They’re not ugly. They’re actually rather nice to look at.” They really were. Pearly white with perfectly aligned feathers. They shone in the light and the little black tips at the sweep made a beautiful contrast. And so soft— if Harry was a touch more poetic, he would say that angels probably had wings just like these.

“Ugly,” Malfoy insisted stubbornly. “And...al-alone.”

_Oh._

Harry’s heart did a funny, clenchy thing. He had never felt more useless in his life. Evidently, he could yell at Malfoy until he was blue in the face, call him names, hex him...but watching him cry out of sheer loneliness was too much. With a sigh, Harry resumed stroking the feathers again. There was little else he could do right now and Malfoy didn’t seem to mind.

“You’re not ugly,” he repeated, as firmly as he could. “And you’re definitely not alone. You have me, for as long as you need.” 

Malfoy sniffled and Harry was terrified that he’d start crying again. But then, one wing unfurled the tiniest bit. Malfoy peeked out from under them, red eyed and sniffling and suspicious. “You’re sick of me,” he declared. “You want me to go too.”

“No, I don’t,” Harry replied at once. He realised that it wasn’t a lie, either. Malfoy drove him crazy and at any other moment, Harry would have been happy to put this whole thing behind him. But he would bar the doors and lock the windows before he let him leave in this condition. Honestly, he didn’t think his heart could stand the guilt. “You’re staying. I want you to stay, Draco.”

Mal— _Draco’s_ eyes widened at the use of his name. Large, silver eyes, Harry noticed. Huh. He’d always pegged them for grey, somehow. Well, silver was definitely prettier. And it certainly suited Draco more... Harry caught himself and shook his head. _Not the time_ , he told himself firmly. He still had to handle this mess. 

“So how about it?” he asked softly, stroking a downy feather with his finger. It curled under his touch and he smiled slightly. “Will you stay?”

Draco still seemed suspicious but he offered a slow nod. “Very well. If it means that much to you.”

There. Crisis solved. Harry heaved a sigh of relief, gave him a smile of reassurance and got up to leave. A slim hand clamped around his wrist, stopping him. Harry turned around, staring into those silver eyes again.

“Stay,” Draco mumbled. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Harry hesitated. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be just in the other...”

“Please?”

Harry sighed heavily. Clearly, he wasn’t going to get his way on this one, and it really was too late to argue. So he just toed his shoes off and slipped under the covers, solicitously keeping on his side of the bed.

Draco had other ideas. As soon as Harry was within reach, he slid over and wrapped an arm around his waist, snuggling into his shoulder. Harry stayed stiff as a board, trying to fight the overwhelming sensation of sheer awkwardness emanating from his very being. Draco didn’t care. A half mumbled good night and he was already asleep. 

Well. Apparently, that was that.

Eventually, Harry gave in and closed his eyes as well. All in all, it wasn’t so terrible. Draco’s head was a warm weight against his chest and it was...nice having someone close at night. The warm comfort lulled Harry to a sound sleep. 

He didn’t wake until the next morning when a wad of feathers smacked him right in the face.

****

One week turned into three. On day four of week three, Harry brought up the subject of Fleur. Shockingly, Draco didn’t take it very well.

“I don’t want to talk about it! Why would I want someone to tell me just how much of a freak I am? Don’t you think I know already?” he ranted, glaring at Harry from the top of the fridge. He had taken refuge there the second the subject had been broached. He always went for higher ground when something unpleasant came up. One time, Narcissa had called and Lucius had come up in conversation. It had taken Harry four hours and six cups of hot chocolate to coax Draco back on solid ground. It was probably a Veela thing— maybe Draco just felt less vulnerable in high places— but truthfully, Harry really didn’t know. And that was exactly _why_ they needed to talk to Fleur.

“You’re not a freak,” Harry replied patiently. Dealing with a flighty, emotionally unstable Veela on a daily basis had done wonders for his self restraint. “We’re just going to the Burrow to ask her some questions. Is that so terrible?”

“They’ll laugh at me!” His wings were fluttering rapidly now. That was a bad sign. “They’ll call me a freak! And why wouldn’t they? I _am_ a freak! Fleur doesn’t have wings, does she? Why? Why am I the only one with wings? Why do I...”

“Draco, that’s enough.” 

For a moment, Harry had to wonder at his tone. When exactly, had he managed to nail down that combination of stern and reassuring? Presumably, another side effect of Veela management. At any rate, it worked because Draco shut up mid-rant. He did however, continue to gaze at Harry with reproachful, betrayed eyes.

“Nobody’s going to laugh at you,” Harry told him firmly. “These are good people and they’re trying to help you. And that’s not even the point— you know perfectly well that I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to. But can we at least discuss this?”

Draco scowled and looked away. Harry decided to take it as tacit agreement.

“You’ve been struggling lately. No, let me finish,” he said, holding a hand up as Draco opened his mouth to argue. “This has been tough on you, I get that. But don’t you see? It’s not going to get any easier. This is something Fleur understands, at least on some level. Maybe she can help, that’s all I’m saying.”

And Harry admittedly silently to himself, they did need help. Draco’s behaviour lately had been a cause of concern. He was distracted and edgy. He got upset if Harry left him alone and when he returned, he would keep close as if waiting for Harry to bolt or something. And then there was the touching. Draco was a lot more tactile these days. He spent the nights exclusively in Harry’s bed now and he wouldn’t sleep until Harry spent a good ten minutes petting his feathers. Harry honestly didn’t mind. He had been alone for so long, it felt nice to be needed for once. But it was still odd and it made sense to check with Fleur, for Draco’s sake if not his.

On a whim, he held a hand out, inviting Draco to take it. Draco scowled but Harry had always been the more stubborn of the two. Eventually, Draco gave in and allowed himself to be helped off the fridge and into Harry’s arms.

“Come on,” Harry coaxed gently. “Just this once, okay? And I promise we never have to talk about it again if you don’t want to.”

Draco huffed and curled up in a manner that could only be described as ‘belligerent’. But he finally relented with a nod. “Fine. But just this once.”

“Thank you,” Harry replied, hiding a fond smile as he stroked Draco’s hair. “It means a lot to me.”

“It should. Honestly Potter, the things I do for you...”

Harry nodded in agreement and left to fetch him some hot chocolate as a reward.

****

Despite all his assurances to the contrary, Harry had been a little worried about the visit to the Burrow too. Draco hardly had the best relationship with Ron and Hermione and the rest had little reason to welcome him in their midst. Fortunately for him, the Weasleys came with a default setting of _‘Have a seat. Let us feed you.’_

Molly had taken one look at Draco hovering uncertainly behind Harry, and her maternal instincts had kicked in. In minutes, Draco had a plate of food piled so high Harry could only see the top of his blond head. 

The rest of the residents trooped in shortly afterwards. Ron and Hermione were as warm as ever and Hermione made an effort to include Draco in conversation— something Harry was immensely grateful for. Ron did look on the verge of starting something, but one look from his wife seemed to have quelled the urge. He spent the majority of the evening with his face in a plate of creamed corn. Fred and George said hello but opted for a quick dine and dash so they could get back to the shop. Nothing exploded in their wake, and everyone agreed it was a small blessing. Ginny skipped in shortly afterwards and greeted Harry with a hug. She shook hands with Draco too, although Harry could have sworn Draco stared at her a second too long before taking her hand. Finally, conversation resumed as per normal.

Bill and Fleur approached them after dinner. Draco noticed them first and the moment his eyes landed on Bill, he shrank into himself and sidled over to Harry’s side. Harry— who had become something of an expert in identifying Veela distress— noticed at once and hastened to offer reassurance.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, running a soothing hand down Draco’s back. “Bill’s a good bloke. He doesn’t believe in holding grudges.” 

Draco nodded hesitantly but kept his eyes trained firmly on Bill, apparently still expecting a punch to the face. Bill—Merlin bless him— gauged the situation easily enough and took matters into his own hands. He reached out and flicked Draco smartly on the forehead.

“There. Now we’re even.”

Draco gaped in complete shock, Harry burst into laughter and Fleur rolled her eyes and hid a smile behind her hand. “Shall we sit?” she asked. Her accent had become a lot less noticeable over the years, with just the slightest lilt of her French roots remaining. Her striking looks and inherent charm though— those were still the same.

“Now then.” Fleur turned to Draco once they had all settled down. “I imagine this must be very overwhelming for you. I understand you had no idea you were a Veela until very recently?”

Draco dropped his gaze and nodded jerkily. His hand crept up to latch on to Harry’s. Harry squeezed gently. “We’re still dealing with it,” he told Fleur.

She frowned and shook her head. “Harry, I appreciate you trying to help but this is something Draco must come to terms with on his own. Let him try, please?”

Fair enough. Harry nodded in understanding and subsided, but he kept his hand on Draco’s anyway. Nobody said he couldn’t offer moral support. 

“I feel...lost,” Draco admitted, after a moment. “It’s like my whole world turned upside down. I don’t know who I am anymore and I can’t make sense of what’s happening to me.”

“And what do you think is happening to you?” Fleur coaxed gently.

Draco’s head jerked up. There was clear desperation in his eyes. “It’s like I’m looking for something and I can’t find it. It makes me paranoid. It...it just never goes away and sometimes hours go by before I feel normal and that’s only when Harry sits with me or...or he talks to me until I calm down. Most of the time, I’m just...I’m _terrified_ that I’m going to be alone forever and I can’t stop it and...”

Harry stepped in as Draco’s panic ascended. He shushed him gently and pulled him into his arms, running a soothing hand down the trembling wings. Draco’s frantic breathing calmed somewhat but Harry’s worries had just doubled. How long had Draco been feeling like this? Why hadn’t Harry noticed it before? Draco was suffering and he hadn’t even seen it. He glanced at Fleur, silently pleading for some answers. She looked genuinely sympathetic. Even Bill softened enough to reach out and pat Draco’s shoulder.

“It’s perfectly normal,” he said gently. 

Draco turned his head to look at them, but he didn’t move out of Harry’s grip. “It is?”

Fleur smiled softly. “Draco, what you’re going through is something every Veela experiences at some point of time. Hundreds have dealt with it before you and a hundred more will after you. I promise there is nothing wrong with you.”

Draco sat up, tentatively slipping out of Harry’s hold. Now that he had someone who had actual answers, he was desperate to fix this. “But why do I feel like this? Why won’t it stop?”

Fleur reached out to take his hand. “There’s probably a better way to tell you this but considering how little you know, perhaps it’s best to just say it, yes? Draco, you’re searching for your mate.”

Harry blinked in the silence. “A mate?” It sounded...odd. Not bad, no. But certainly not something he had prepared for.

“Not _a_ mate,” Fleur corrected. “His mate— the person he will spend the rest of his life with.” She smiled warmly at Bill. “It’s a lovely thing, really. And it’s certainly nothing to fret about.”

“But...” Harry trailed off, unable to put his mixed thoughts into words. “So he’s just going to feel this way until he finds this...person?”

Who was to say Draco would even find his mate? How would such a thing even begin to happen? What if his mate was on the other side of the world?

“It’s not something I can explain,” Fleur admitted. “It’s a process. But it does happen, Harry. People do find each other. I found Bill, didn’t I?” Bill grinned and wrapped an arm around her slim shoulders.

Draco just looked resigned, and a tiny bit dazed. “So that’s it? I’m in heat?”

Harry choked on a sip of tea. Fleur wrinkled her nose. “That’s a very crass way of putting it. You’re a Veela, Draco. You’ve been given a special gift. Surely you see that?”

Draco looked away. Fleur’s eyes softened in understanding. She reached out and stroked his cheek with tenderness that Harry had thought only mothers possessed. Draco fought it for all of two seconds before capitulating to her gentle insistence. “You are not a freak,” Fleur said firmly. “You’re different, yes. But that is a good thing. You’ve been given the opportunity to be a part of something beautiful, something not everyone gets to experience. Be brave, Draco. I promise it will all work out.”

“How?” Draco asked quietly. “How will I even find...my mate? How will I know?”

“You will know,” Fleur promised. “Instinct will draw you to them. There will be something— a pull that makes you want to stay close. They will be the one you think of when it is love and safety you desire. When you accept yourself for who you are, you will see it clearly.”

Harry processed her words carefully. “It doesn’t sound like he has much choice in any of this,” he admitted. And then, he asked the question that had been niggling at him since the beginning. “What happens if he can’t find his mate?”

Fleur averted her gaze and Harry’s worry intensified. 

“Will he die?” he asked.

Fleur’s eyes widened. “Mon dieu, no! Nature is not cruel, Harry. Harsh sometimes, yes but nothing that drastic will happen, I assure you.” She trailed off uneasily, and her telling silence bore on until Bill nudged her gently. Fleur sighed. “It is not unheard of for Veelas to live long, full lives without a mate. But it is not widely encouraged. Draco will want— in some ways, need— to be with his mate. It will be difficult for him to reconcile with not having them in his life, both emotionally and... physically.”

“And what if my mate doesn’t want me?” Draco asked dully.

Fleur’s eyes flashed with anger. “Then he is a fool,” she replied firmly. “Look at you! C’est magnifique! Only a complete imbecile will reject you.” Her gaze flicked from him to Harry and the fierceness faded to a soft smile. “I can’t do much more for you Draco, but I _can_ promise that your mate— whoever he is— is not so foolish.”

Harry couldn’t help but notice the ‘he’ she stressed upon. Had she assumed Draco’s mate would be male? The thought of Draco in some random bloke’s arms was...unpleasant. Of course it was. Draco was brilliant and he deserved someone who knew how special he was, not someone who would ‘accept’ him. Harry felt inexplicably irritated at the phantom mate’s audacity and resolutely banished him to a dark corner in his mind. He was a right bastard.

At least something good had come out of the talk, though. Draco was no longer flinching at the mention of his Veela genes. In fact, he seemed oddly contemplative. He sat in silence, running his hands through his feathers, a thoughtful look on his face. “Thank you for your help,” he told Fleur sincerely. “You’ve been very kind.”

She favoured him with an affectionate kiss on the cheek. “Just open your eyes,” was her parting advice, “and you will find everything you’ve been looking for.”

Bill lingered behind after she left and took a moment to draw Harry aside. As soon as they were out of earshot, he turned to Harry. “So how are you doing?”

Harry blinked in surprise. “Me? Draco’s the one who...”

Bill waved him off impatiently. “Being a Veela is overwhelming, yeah. But taking care of one is no walk in the park either. I just want to know you’re okay with this.”

Harry hastened to brush off the concern. Of course he was fine, everything was fine; why would he have a problem with this? Then he looked into Bill’s sincere, worried expression and all his denial fell to the wayside. “Honestly?” he sighed. “I’m exhausted. Every day with him is— I just worry about him _all the time_. He’s eating too little, he’s sleeping too much, he panics and he’s scared and it just...it feels like I’m not doing enough, you know? I just wish I could do more to help him get through this.”

It felt good to get it off his chest. He had been so worried these past few weeks. Just the thought of Draco sick and hurting had cut him to the quick. And now, he had to worry about finding Draco’s mate. Who knew what state Draco would be in if they couldn’t find this bloke?

“You feel very protective towards him,” Bill commented. He sounded thoughtful. Not judging, just...thoughtful.

“I do,” Harry admitted. “There’s just something about him. He’s so strong in some ways. He’s proud and defiant and stubborn—and he’s a bloody chore, I’ll have you know.” Bill chuckled at that and Harry felt a reluctant smile tug his own lips. “But he’s fragile too. He likes sappy movies. And he’s curious about how things work. I caught him taking the toaster apart once, did I tell you that? Looked like he was having the time of his life doing it too.” He grinned and shook his head fondly. “It’s...weird but I like seeing him happy. It’s a good look on him.”

Bill was just staring at him now, a slight frown furrowing his brow. Harry flushed as he realised he’d been rambling. “Anyway, so that’s that,” he blurted with a hasty shrug. “It’s tough but I’m dealing with it. No problem. It’s all good.”

Bill nodded slowly. “Harry,” he said after a moment’s silence. “I want you to listen to me now, okay?” He sounded dead serious. Harry offered a nod and Bill continued. “I want you to be very careful here.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll make sure he’s okay. It’s just one of those days and...”

“Not him. I’m talking about you.”

Harry blinked. “Me?”

“Here’s something you only learn about Veelas after you’ve been with one for long enough. They’re temperamental. Flighty. They do what they want and sometimes it’s not good for them— or for the people around them. It doesn’t matter. They do it anyway. I just don’t want you to get hurt if and when Malfoy decides to...leave.”

Wait, what? 

Draco was leaving? 

Harry’s world tilted. Everything seemed off kilter all of a sudden. “Why...why would he leave?” he asked, a little too evenly.

Bill gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m not saying he will. I’m saying he might. I want you to be prepared for the possibility that he might not be there someday.”

Harry stared in dumbstruck silence, only just about managing a vehement head shake. Bill meant well, but clearly he was over thinking this. Draco wasn’t leaving. Why would he go away? Well, he probably would when he found his mate but he _hadn’t_ yet so why were they even talking about this?

“I’m fine,” he told Bill firmly. “Everything’s okay, Bill. It’s not...I mean, you don’t need to worry.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll do it anyway.” He squeezed Harry’s shoulder and gave him a light push. “You best be off. Malfoy looks tired.”

Harry started at that and whirled around. Draco was standing a little ways off, staving off a yawn and rubbing his eyes like a sleepy child. Harry’s eyes softened and he hurried towards him, taking his arm and leading him to the Floo. In moments, they were gone.

Bill watched the flickering flames, startling when two slim arms wrapped around his waist.

“Should we tell them?” he asked.

“No,” Fleur replied softly. “It’s not right to interfere in such delicate matters.”

Bill huffed in exasperation. “Well, someone’s got to tell them! They’ll never figure it out on their own and someone will get hurt.” He didn’t need to specify that it was Harry he was worried about.

Fleur just smiled. “It’s quite obvious. And they are smart boys, both of them. Don’t worry so much.”

She silenced Bill’s forthcoming protests with a kiss.

****

Things changed after that day.

At first, Harry figured Draco was in one of his moods again. But this time, things weren’t getting better. On the surface, everything was fine. Draco still spoke when he was spoken to and he was actually being pleasant for a change. He even picked up after himself and once he even offered to do the dishes. Harry was still reeling a bit over that one.

But there were little things that didn’t escape his notice. Draco seemed pensive these days. Sometimes he even looked...sad, although he made it a point to school his features when he thought Harry was looking at him. He didn’t actively seek Harry’s company anymore and more often than not, he slept in his own bed. Harry made it a point to stick close anyway and Draco didn’t seem to mind that at all. But there was no denying that something had changed between them and it worried Harry to no end.

It all came to a head one day when Harry came home after work and realised Draco was nowhere in sight. His worry turned to full blown panic as he scanned the house, running from room to room in search of his Veela. Still no Draco. Harry was borderline hysterical by now and he was on the verge of running through the streets, when he heard the thump on the roof.

Without wasting so much as a second, Harry ran for the gardens— just in time to see Draco take a flying leap right off the roof. Harry’s breath caught in his throat and his heart threatened to give out right there, but just then Draco’s wings flared. They spread across the sky in a perfect frame, catching the sunlight as he swooped through the air. Draco made a perfect sweep across the gardens before rising a few feet and executing a graceful flip.

Harry could only watch in stunned silence. Draco was...he was _flying_. 

And he was magnificent.

Harry laughed out in incredulous delight when Draco caught sight of him. He changed direction mid air and glided towards him. Soft feathers brushed his cheek and Draco made a graceful landing— well, it was graceful until he tumbled right into Harry, sending them both crashing to the ground.

“Sorry,” he mumbled into Harry’s chest. “I’m still working on my landing.”

“Tell me you cast a Notice Me Not Charm,” Harry blurted out. His mind was going a mile a minute, and it was the first thing he could think of. He was still reeling at the sight he had just witnessed.

“I’m not an idiot,” Draco replied. “Having your octogenarian neighbour succumb to a heart attack is not on my to-do list.” With that he curled into Harry’s chest again.

“You...you flew.” Harry swallowed around a tight lump in his throat and wrapped his arms around Draco. This was—it was the most amazing thing he had ever seen. Draco had looked so _right_ up there in the sky, beautiful and natural and just breathtaking. This was everything he was meant to be and he had finally, _finally_ come to terms with it. “I’ve never seen anything like that in my life,” Harry whispered, tightening his grip on the slim body in his arms. “You were just amazing.”

“Shut up, I was not,” Draco mumbled. But Harry could have sworn he felt a smile against his chest. 

Draco disentangled himself and sat up. His cheeks were flushed from the flight and his eyes were bright, but he was skirting Harry’s gaze and fiddling with his wings again. “I’ve been thinking about what Fleur said,” he mumbled. “And I think she’s right. If I can’t deal with who I am, nobody else will.”

Harry squeezed his shoulder gently. “That’s what I keep telling you. This was a brilliant thing you did, Draco. And everything else will work out, you’ll see.”

“Harry, there’s...something else I have to tell you.”

Something about Draco’s quiet voice made Harry uneasy. Draco cleared his throat and finally looked up at Harry. His expression was troubled. It didn’t help Harry’s frame of mind one bit. “What’s going on?” 

“I’ve been giving this a lot of thought,” Draco explained. “And I think it’s time for me to move out. You know, from here.”

What?

Harry’s world blurred a little at the edges. Draco wanted to...he wanted to leave? 

“What brought this on?” Harry asked. His voice shook a little and he hated himself for it a little bit. 

“Mother called,” Draco replied quietly. “She said things are better now and I can move back to the Manor— so long as I stay out of Father’s way for a while. It makes sense, right? And maybe...maybe if I’m home instead of here, I can get on with other...things. Things I’ll have to deal with eventually. I don’t think I can do that here. With you.”

 _What things_ , Harry wanted to ask. And then it hit him. Draco probably wanted to look for his mate. The person he was meant for. The person he would fall in love with and be with forever.

I don’t think I can do that here. With you.

Oh.

“Oh,” Harry whispered. His eyes stung a little, and he couldn’t really help the hurt expression that crept up to his face. Bill’s words rang in his head with the headache inducing clarity of a church bell. He should have seen this coming. Bill had warned him, but Harry hadn’t listened. Now that Draco was finally doing what all Veelas did, it was hitting him like a freight train. 

“Was it something I did?” Harry asked. The little voice in his head admonished him severely for sounding desperate, for trying to guilt Draco into staying when he clearly wanted to leave, but he just...he needed to understand. Why now? Why did Draco want to leave him altogether?

Draco’s eyes widened. “No!” he protested immediately. “Harry, you’ve been wonderful. You...I can’t even begin to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. If it wasn’t for you, I’d...that’s not the point. I just...I think I need to learn to deal with this on my own. Find my own way, like Fleur said. It’s for the best, Harry. It really is and I think...I think once I’m gone, you’ll see it too.”

Would he? Harry vehemently disagreed. He didn’t know what to think right now, but he knew that Draco going away wasn’t going to help him with anything. And quite frankly, he didn’t want that kind of help at all. He liked things the way they were. Living without Draco, coming home to a house that didn’t have Draco in it was— it sounded so _wrong_.

“We both knew it was going to happen someday.” Draco sounded resolute now. He squared his shoulders and looked Harry right in the eye. “I appreciate your help, Harry. But you’ve done enough for me. I can’t be here anymore and nothing is going to change that. I’ll pack my things and be gone by morning. Take care of yourself.”

He picked himself off the frost covered ground and strode back to the house. Harry stared after him, feeling a lot colder all of a sudden.

This time, he didn’t follow him in.

****

_Two weeks later._

It was official.

Winter was here. Harry cradled a mug of hot chocolate as he stared aimlessly out the window, watching the snowflakes drift to the ground. The world was blanketed in white— serene and peaceful and utterly perfect. Unfortunately, Harry couldn’t bring himself to enjoy it. Watching the snow only brought thoughts of Draco’s gleaming white wings to mind. That memory had crossed from bittersweet to painful ages ago.

Harry grimaced and turned away, slumping on the sofa with his back to the outside. His house was spotless once again. There were no clothes strewn on his floors, his sofa had been cookie crumb free for days and after weeks of searching the nooks and corners, he had finally decided that his house was now a Feather Free Zone.

That last bit actually wasn’t true. He had found a downy white feather on his pillow this morning. It was still there.

Harry sighed heavily. He couldn’t lie to himself anymore. He missed Draco. He really did. This stupid, clean house felt empty and bereft without him. There was no one to bicker with, no one to share a cup of hot chocolate with or to watch a movie with. Sometimes he thought back to the day Draco had taken his first flight and he was certain his heart was about to burst. Did Draco still fly, he wondered. Was he happy? Had he found his mate? And if he had, did he think about Harry at all?

What if Draco had forgotten all about him?

The thought, unlikely and maudlin though it was, cut him to the quick. The idea of Draco in someone else’s arms— smiling that shy half smile that only appeared when he was truly happy for _someone else_ — Harry didn’t think he could stand it. And the more he thought about it, the more he realised that it just couldn’t be normal to miss someone this much. It hurt but it also made him think. 

Was there a chance...? Could it be at all possible that _he_ was Draco’s...?

The fireplace flared to life suddenly, scaring at least ten years off Harry’s life. The flickers morphed into refined features that Harry was only vaguely familiar with.

“Mr Potter,” Narcissa Malfoy’s cultured voice spoke from the hearth. “I apologise for calling on you like this. I do hope I’m not disturbing you?”

“Mrs Malfoy?” Harry blinked and then scrambled to the fireplace, babbling questions at a mile a minute. “Is everything okay? Why are you calling me? Where’s Draco? Is he alright?”

“Oh my,” Narcissa commented, sounding rather amused. “That was a lot of questions. Shall I take the liberty of answering them based on individual importance? Very well then. Draco— to the best of my knowledge— is fine. He’s not here at the moment. Everything is just lovely, thank you for asking. And I’m calling you to see if you have perhaps, heard from him.”

Harry stared at her. “You don’t...he’s not there?”

“He left a while ago. Well, I say _left_ , what I mean is he flew out an open window.” She rolled her eyes in a manner that was almost fond. “His father was not amused.”

Wait, _what?_

“But where did he go?” Harry demanded. How could she be so calm about this? Draco was missing and here she was, chatting ever so...so _glibly_ with him!

Narcissa arched an eyebrow. “Mr Potter, do not presume to judge my affections for my son based on my husband’s behaviour. Draco is— and always will be— important to me. You, of all people, should know that.”

Harry flushed, suitably embarrassed. “Sorry about that,” he mumbled. “But I haven’t seen him for weeks now. I don’t think he wants to see me, really.”

“Oh?” A delicate frown furrowed her brow. “Forgive me, but I was under an entirely different impression. Based on his moping at least, I could only assume the contrary.”

Now wait a minute. Moping? Draco had been moping? “What moping?” Harry demanded. Why didn’t anyone ever tell him anything? If Draco was upset about something and he was suddenly missing...didn’t anyone realise how fragile he was?!

Narcissa seemed infuriatingly unperturbed by this crisis. “Veelas play by a different set of rules, Mr Potter. And Draco— as I’m sure you’re aware— has always been a bit of a challenge. I noticed how unhappy he was as soon as he returned of course, but I assumed he would see sense in due time. However, if as you say, he hasn’t come to you yet, then...”

“Then where is he?” Harry barked. “And what do you mean he was unhappy? Why wasn’t I informed?”

Narcissa smiled slyly. “Now why would you want to be informed about Draco’s moods? Surely, it’s a trivial thing to bother you with?”

“It’s not trivial if he’s sulking in the snow somewhere!” Harry retorted, just barely keeping himself from yelling at her. He was moving while talking now, searching for his jacket. Where was the damn thing? Draco could be anywhere and it was so cold and...

_Ring._

Harry jumped as the phone rang. Great. Just what he needed, yet another distraction. “Hang on a minute,” he told Narcissa, manhandling the receiver to his ear. “Hello? Mrs Newberry? No, I...wait, what? What do you mean ‘it’s back’? Mrs— Mrs Newberry, calm down. No, I haven’t been outside yet. Why would I...”

Wait.

Wait just a minute.

Harry whipped around so fast, he nearly got whiplash. There, out on the tree— the _déjà vu_ of the moment hit him so hard he nearly staggered.

“Mrs Newberry, I’ll have to call you back,” Harry whispered. When he turned around, Narcissa was smiling in the flames.

“Take care of him, Mr Potter,” she said, before disappearing in a burst of fire.

Harry was running out the door before the ash had settled. He could definitely see it now; his mind hadn’t been playing tricks on him. Against the bare, snow laden branches of the tree, a familiar figure crouched, ensconced in a pair of gleaming white wings. Harry’s heart surged with so many emotions he could hardly tell apart. But relief, tenderness and a good helping of concerned anger were strong candidates, that was for sure. His footsteps quickened and he all but raced to the tree.

“Draco!” he yelled. “What the hell are you doing up there?”

Draco stiffened and uncurled himself slowly. He unfurled a wing and Harry looked into a pale face with red rimmed eyes. “What are you doing here?” Draco demanded. “You’re not supposed to be here!”

Harry was understandably flabbergasted. “ _I’m_ not supposed to be here?”

“You always go to the Burrow for dinner on Thursday!” Draco sounded so petulant about it. Evidently, Harry’s inability to stick to a proper social schedule had offended him somehow.

“I stayed in,” he retorted. “I’m not sure you’ve noticed but it’s sort of freezing out here.”

Clearly, this was sound reasoning because it only displeased Draco further. “You’re not supposed to be here,” he repeated in a small voice, hunching into his wings again. “You weren’t supposed to see me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I tried, I really did. But it hurt so much. I thought it wouldn’t matter if you didn’t see, you weren’t supposed to see! I just wanted to be here for a while and I would have left and now you’ve ruined everything, you _always_ do and...”

He was rambling now. Harry could hear the panic creeping in his tone. “Hey, slow down,” he admonished gently. “It’s okay, Draco. Everything’s alright, I promise.” He was a little surprised at how easily it all came back to him, how natural it felt to just slip back into this role, but something in his chest thawed at the idea. And now that he was here— trying to coax a distraught Veela out of a tree _again_ — Harry realised something. 

This _was_ what he was meant to do. Taking care of Draco, reassuring him, dealing with him and helping him through the rough times— this was what he was meant for. He could feel it in his bones, right down to his very being. This was right. 

And that meant...

“Why don’t we talk inside?” he suggested gently. “By the fire, where it’s warm?”

“No,” Draco mumbled sulkily. “I want to go home.”

“You _are_ home,” Harry replied. Draco’s eyes widened in surprise at his frank declaration and Harry couldn’t help a smile. It sounded so right. It _was_ right. He extended a hand, knowing perfectly well that Draco couldn’t possibly take it from this height. But it was a gesture, and Draco needed actions more than words right now. “If you don’t come down, I’ll just climb up to get you,” Harry told him. “You’re not going anywhere, Draco. Not until we’ve cleared this whole thing out, and probably not after that either.”

That seemed to drive his point home. Draco waffled a little but eventually, he did his Leap of Faith thing and dropped out of the tree, next to Harry. The idiot didn’t even have a sweater on. Harry hissed in concern and shrugged off his jacket, bundling Draco in it at once. Draco let him, not even making a token protest when Harry wrapped the scarf firmly around his neck. 

“You really are a piece of work, you know that?” Harry scolded, leading him back to the house. Draco just hummed in what could only be smug agreement and snuggled into his neck. Before long, he had been propped up in front of the roaring fire with a cup of hot chocolate warming his hands.

“There we go,” Harry murmured, throwing a blanket over his shoulders for good measure before settling down as well. “Feeling better?”

Draco mumbled something unintelligible and curled up against him, looping an arm around Harry’s neck and hiding in his chest. Harry returned the gentle embrace, more out of habit than anything else. He let his hands take charge for now— running them soothingly down Draco’s back and in his hair, patting down his damp, ruffled feathers. Eventually Draco relaxed in his hold, looking soft and sleepy and rather sweet.

Harry almost hated to disturb him with jarring questions, but they had to talk about this. “So what was all that about?”

Draco’s wings curled around him. Harry pushed them away gently, refusing to let him hide from this. “We have a lot to talk about, Draco,” he pressed gently. “About what you’re feeling right now and why you left. But before that, we should probably talk about the fact that I’m your mate and you didn’t think it was important to let me know.”

Draco jerked out of his arms at once. His expression was a study in absolute shock. “You know,” he whispered after what seemed like aeons of silence. “How...when did you figure it out?”

That was a good question. Harry couldn’t really say he knew the answer. It could have been during the agonizing few weeks he had spent bereft of Draco. It might have been that visit to the Burrow— when Fleur had looked at them with that knowing expression— that drove the notion home. Hell, it might even have been that very first night when he had found Draco in the tree. Or right now, at this very moment. Who could say? All Harry knew was that right now, right here, he had never been more sure of anything in his life.

“Not important,” he replied firmly. “What I want to know is when _you_ found out and why you didn’t tell me.” That part still stung. Did Draco not want him for a mate? Was that what had driven him away? “Why did you leave me, Draco?”

Draco sighed and curled against him again. “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do,” he mumbled. “When I found out—when Fleur mentioned I’d be instinctively drawn to my mate— everything started to make sense. Why I came _here_ that night, of all places. Why you made me feel so safe. Why just being with you made everything better.”

Harry dropped a kiss in his hair. “Then why did you leave?”

“I left for you!” Draco burst out. “I didn’t want...you were so _worried_ about me, Harry! I knew if I told you, you’d _never_ let me go and you’d do anything to make me happy— even if it wasn’t what _you_ wanted. I didn’t want to guilt you into being with me. Just because I don’t have a choice in this, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t. I couldn’t have lived with myself if I pressured you into anything. I couldn’t...I couldn’t do that to you. I just couldn’t.”

Oh.

“Oh, Draco.” 

Harry tightened his grip, holding Draco so close he could feel his frantic heartbeat through his clothes. An aching tenderness settled in his chest, threatening to submerge him completely. All this time, he had assumed Draco had left for his own selfish reasons. But he hadn’t. He’d been thinking about Harry, he had tried to give Harry a _choice_ in this. It was the most heart-wrenching, idiotic and selfless thing anyone had ever done for him.

“But I couldn’t,” Draco continued, his voice breaking a little. “When I left, it all came back. I just missed you so much. I couldn’t stop thinking about you and...and I just thought if I could come back here for a bit, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much. I didn’t think you’d be here. I just wanted...”

He trailed off as Harry mumbled reassurances into hair, patting his back gently and stroking his ruffled feathers. 

“You are _such_ an idiot,” Harry murmured.

Draco bristled defensively in his arms. “I was trying to do the right thing!”

Harry snorted. “New rule. You are no longer allowed to do ‘the right thing’. You’re pants at it.” He ignored Draco’s huff of indignation and straightened him up, cradling his face in his hands. “Why is it so hard to convince you how brilliant you are? Didn’t you hear what else Fleur said that night? Draco, I’d be a fool to let you go.”

Draco stared at him with teary, disbelieving eyes and the sight nearly shattered Harry’s heart to pieces. How was it even _possible_ to love someone this much? “I love you,” he whispered. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. You’re everything to me and so help me Merlin, I’m never letting you leave again.”

And he could see the doubts clouding Draco’s eyes; he could feel him rearing up for another senseless argument so Harry did the only reasonable thing he could think of. He pulled Draco over and kissed him soundly. Draco squeaked in surprise and tried to hedge away, but there was no way Harry was letting him go now. He just tightened his grip and deepened the kiss, determined to show Draco just how much he was needed, how much he was wanted. Merlin knew the silly git wasn’t going to figure it out on his own. 

Draco’s response wasn’t particularly encouraging. For the most part, he seemed frozen in shock. But at least he wasn’t actively struggling.

This, Harry decided, called for a little motivation.

He drew away and broke the kiss, suppressing a smile at the sudden flash of disappointment in Draco’s eyes. Draco shifted in apparent agitation, seemingly torn between following Harry and staying right where he was. 

“I’m here,” Harry promised softly. “Your move, Draco.”

Draco swallowed. His eyes bore into Harry, searching and relentless. To Harry, it seemed like ages had gone by in those brief seconds. But then, something changed. Draco approached— hesitant at first— and gauging Harry’s reaction. Harry held his breath, making sure to keep perfectly still. But then Draco slid over and looped his arms around his neck. Harry felt the tension leave that slim, lean frame as Draco relaxed against him. 

“Okay,” he whispered. 

Harry grinned and pulled him in for another kiss before he could change his mind. 

“Mine,” he murmured against Draco’s lips. It sounded so damn good when he said it out loud. Draco was his— his Veela, his mate, his everything. And now that he had him, Harry was never letting him go.

“Mine,” he growled again, letting his teeth graze that pale throat. Draco’s short gasp sent a bolt of pleasure down his spine and Harry tightened his hold. “Say it. I want you to say it.” 

“Yours,” Draco agreed breathily, without a moment’s hesitation. His hands were fumbling now, tugging haphazardly at Harry’s shirt. If that wasn’t tacit permission, Harry didn’t know what was. He lost no time and in a few efficient moves, Draco clothes were in a crumpled heap on the floor.

“Merlin,” Harry whispered. His gaze roved his body greedily—the toned chest and flat stomach, angled hips and legs that were fucking endless. Draco’s eyes fluttered, his cheeks were flushed. He looked enticing and sweet and just so damn perfect like this. And his wings...white and gleaming, unfurled in all their glory— Harry reached out and ran a finger down the length of one wing, delighting in Draco’s resulting whine and the faint tremble under his fingertips.

“Is this Veela foreplay?” he asked conversationally. “Because I have to tell you, I could get used to this.”

“Mm,” Draco replied helpfully. But his eyes were lidded and his thighs were parting and the feathers Harry was caressing curled prettily under his touch— asking, practically begging him to continue. And Harry would have happily obliged, if something far more interesting hadn’t captured his immediate attention. Draco’s cock bobbed in anticipation, drawing his eager eye. Godric help him, even Draco’s cock was pretty. Pink and slender with just the slightest curve and a bead of pre come glistening at the head— the sight made his mouth water and his pants tighten.

“Harry,” Draco whined, squirming against him. “Harry, don’t stop...”

“I’ve got you,” Harry cut in gently. “I’m here.”

Draco hooked a leg around his waist anyway. Harry pressed an affectionate kiss to his head before tipping him back on the sofa.

“That’s it,” he whispered. 

Draco was laid out for him like a prize, and that pretty pink cock was practically calling out to him now, begging for his attention. Harry wasn’t sure he could hold out a second longer.

So, he didn’t.

“Oh!”

Draco’s squeal of surprise dissolved into a heady moan as Harry drew him in expertly, suckling gently and plying the tip of Draco’s cock with his tongue. After a moment or so, he upped the ante and hummed— a decidedly underhanded tactic that left Draco panting with need. 

“Please,” he moaned, clenching his fists into Harry’s hair. “Please, Harry...”

Pretty as Draco’s frantic pleading was, Harry had other ideas. One more hum— just for the fun of seeing Draco twist under him— and he drew back, smirking at the resulting whine of dismay. Harry chuckled and ran a reassuring hand down his Veela’s side. 

“Soon, gorgeous,” he promised roughly. Draco bucked impatiently anyway, and Harry obliged him by picking up the pace. In seconds, his fingers were slicked and his trousers were undone, joining Draco’s clothes in the corner. Draco’s eyes went wide when his gaze settled on Harry’s cock. In fact, he was so distracted that he didn’t even notice what Harry was doing until the latter grabbed hold of one slim, pale leg and slung it over his shoulder. Draco squeaked in surprise and he flushed furiously. This new position left no leeway for modesty. He was thoroughly exposed like this, spread out for Harry’s pleasure. 

And Harry was nothing if not pleased. He traced a teasing path from the base of Draco’s shaft to his bollocks and up to the tiny, furled opening. A slicked finger slipped in— careful and agonizingly slow— making Draco hiss impatiently. Harry added another, still taking care to be as gentle as possible. Draco was hardly helping, what with all his impatient complaints. 

“Hold still,” Harry ordered, angling his fingers abruptly. Draco’s eyes widened and he arched magnificently. _There we go_ , Harry thought smugly, taking extra care to brush against the sensitive spot as much as possible while he scissored his fingers. By the time he was done and he withdrew from the tight opening, Draco was a soundless, panting, moaning mess on the sofa, still bucking into Harry’s phantom caresses.

It was almost too much to bear. Harry scrambled up and positioned his cock with renewed urgency. A throaty groan escaped him as he sank into that warm, wonderful heat. Draco was tight and hot and just so damn responsive. He clamped around Harry like a vice, pulling him in deeper and deeper until Harry almost lost control. It took all of his self control to pull back and thrust again. 

Draco gasped out loud and it was the most glorious sound Harry had ever heard. It spurred him on and he thrust again and again, building up a rhythm that Draco responded to perfectly. When he angled his hips and Draco’s back rose in a perfect arc, Harry knew he’d found that spot again. 

“Yes,” he hissed as Draco’s eyes all but rolled back in his head.

“M-more,” Draco managed and Harry was powerless to deny him.

He resumed slamming into Draco with newfound determination, intent on making him see stars before this was over. Thrust after thrust, until Draco moans turned to breathy gasps and demanding whimpers and then his hands clenched, scrabbling for purchase against the sofa as he came with a shudder. 

Harry watched with almost feral satisfaction as Draco slumped back in a boneless heap, flushed and debauched and absolutely gorgeous. The sight was all it took to spur him on. He rocked his hips in earnest now, intent on his own pleasure now. One thrust. Another. One more. The pleasure built up to a roaring urgency and then Harry was coming, spilling with Draco’s name on his lips and his hands gripping tight enough to bruise. 

He collapsed with a sated gasp, ignoring Draco’s _oomph_ of protest. His head was still swimming and his heart was racing. He didn’t think he would ever find the wherewithal to move again and he didn’t care one whit. He only stirred when a careful hand carded into his hair, stroking the dark locks gently. Harry hummed and pushed into the gentle ministrations.

“Mine,” he mumbled sleepily. 

“Okay,” Draco replied softly.

Harry gripped his arm to herd him over, moving over on the sofa and tucking Draco up neatly in his arms. He couldn’t help a sigh of contentment as Draco curled up against him, curling his wings around both of them.

Harry smiled again. This would work out just fine. He knew it would.

Draco’s breathing eased out and soon he was fast asleep. Harry took a moment to just lie there and look at his sleeping Veela. Draco looked soft and peaceful in the dim light, perfectly content to be just where he was. Harry didn’t think he would ever get tired of such a beautiful sight. As his eyes finally grew heavy, he settled down next to Draco with the reassurance that he would still be here in the morning. And every morning after that.

It was brilliant and perfect and exactly the way things were meant to be.

And, if Harry woke up the next morning with a wad of feathers smacking him in the face...well, some things he could learn to live with.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments here or at [Livejournal](http://hd-owlpost.livejournal.com/96739.html). Comments are ♥


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